


Shiptime

by Blurble



Category: Aveyond
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-01
Updated: 2015-12-01
Packaged: 2018-05-04 08:19:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5327168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blurble/pseuds/Blurble
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mel and Edward go on a ship. Har har.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shiptime

It had been a mistake to let Edward buy the tickets.  
  
Actually, she should have guessed based on how... eager he had been. But then he was enthusiastic about loads of other things for reasons she never really understood, so she'd figured that this was more of the same, that maybe in addition to dreaming of farming chickens and participating in a lice-hop race Edward had a lifelong dream of buying ship tickets. At least she couldn't definitively put it past him.  
  
Full of surprises, that boy. But this particular surprise has been...  
  
“You only bought us  _one cabin_!?” She exclaimed, in horror.  
  
“What? It's a double-size cabin.”  
  
“Yes, but there's only one of it.”  
  
“Well, it was cheaper than buying two singles,” he said, innocently.  
  
“Don't even- don't give me that sickening puppy look, money is  _not_  our biggest concern right now, and I know full well you did this on purpose. I am exchanging this ticket right now.”  
  
“No, don't-” he began, but followed her anyway as she stalked up to the dock to talk to the ship's captain.  
  
“I'm sorry,” the captain said, “but we don't do exchanges or refunds.”  
  
“But-” Mel began.  
  
“Ship policy.”  
  
“Could we at least buy another-”  
  
“Nope. Ship policy.” The captain crossed his arms firmly and stared off into the distance, refusing to speak any further.  
  
She whirled away, furious, in time to see Edward try- and fail- to stifle a grin.  
  
\---  
  
And so when they left for the Arishta Isles they left in a single double-size cabin, and Mel was no longer speaking with Edward, at least for the next five minutes, maybe.  
  
“Meeeel,” he whined.  
  
Mel ignored him.  
  
“Oh cool, these hammocks rock. Ooh, look, I can rock it back and forth like this- hey, this is kinda fun, I bet I can make it go even higher if I just-”  
  
THUMP.  
  
He picked himself up and glared at the hammock.  
  
“Bad hammock,” he said, and turned appealingly towards Mel. “Mel, the hammock is being mean to me.”  
  
Mel ignored him.  
  
“C'mon, Mel. You know you want to talk to me. You know, deep down inside, you just want to smack me upside the head and get over it.”  
  
Mel ignored him.  
  
“Otherwise I'll have to tell you a story about the Veldtian Merchant and the Talking Dog. That story takes hours. I'll just talk and talk and talk.”  
  
Mel winced. And ignored him.  
  
“Fine. Alright. The Veldtian Merchant. Be that way.”   
  
He sat precariously cross-legged inside his hammock. Mel rolled over so she couldn't see him anymore.  
  
“The Veldtian Merchant was a woman, with eight husbands. They were all named Quentin, by the way. She had a thing for Quentins. In the beginning she had three Quentins, one with blond hair, one with red hair, one with black hair, so she called them black, white, and red Quentin, variously. But then she got two more Quentins, and one of them brought a whole set of hair dyes. So there went that.”  
  
Mel felt her lips twitch upwards. She quickly willed them back down again.  
  
“Anyway, after the Veldtian got the eighth Quentin in an incident involving a shipwreck and a herd of angry sheep- and, now that I mention it, a ruby teaspoon and a bottle of fairy ale- she decided that she could focus her attention to building a huge shipping empire across the world. The only problem was that she had lost her ship in the aforementioned eighth Quentin incident. And it so happened that the shipbuilders in Veldt had gone on something that they have in Veldt, called a “strike”, which is when the workers refuse to work unless they get paid anymore. In Thais we don't have those, we just have general grumbling which tends to break out into fistfights and which my father says relieves the tension just as nicely, but In Veldt they're much more polite and even eat their bread with little forks. And they have all sorts of strikes... Baker strikes, Janitor strikes, I heard the politicians once went on strike and people tried to pay them to stay that way.”  
  
He paused.  
  
“Seriously? You're not even going to laugh at that? Hellooo, Mel, I just made fun of nobles. Sort of. Mel? Did you go to sleep? Should I start talking to my toes now?”  
  
Mel ignored him.  
  
“Oh well. I guess I won't tell you, then,” Edward said, sounding rather offended.  
  
Mel ignored him.  
  
There was silence.  
  
There was more silence.  
  
There was silence with compound interest.  
  
Mel fidgeted, irritably.  
  
“Alright,  _fine_!” She said, rolling to her other side so she could see him. “What were you going to say?”  
  
He grinned at her. “You're talking to me.”  
  
“No. I'm not. I want to go to sleep and not see your dumb face.”   
  
She rolled back to face the wall.  
  
“Mel?” He whispered.  
  
“ _What_?”  
  
“I'm sorry.”  
  
There was a pause.  
  
She sighed. “Yeah, fine, I... Whatever.”  
  
“And I love you. A lot.”  
  
She threw one of her pillows at him, and curled up into the remainder, bright red. 


End file.
